


the plucking season

by goodnightpuckbunny



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Animal Traits, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, M/M, Massage, Messy, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24433564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodnightpuckbunny/pseuds/goodnightpuckbunny
Summary: Zhenya ran his hand against the grain of Sid’s feathers, ruffling them up so they looked tangled. “You molty, Sid.”His hand was slapped away with a restrained giggle. “So what are you gonna do about it, huh? Wanna pluck them for me? Scratch my itch?”
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Comments: 42
Kudos: 149
Collections: The 2020 Sid/Geno Exchange





	the plucking season

**Author's Note:**

  * For [al-the-remix (only_blue)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/only_blue/gifts).



> _Wherein Sid molts and Geno helps him out with it._ I really hope you enjoy this fic! I was immediately ensnared by your prompt about molty Sid and I knew I _had_ to write about it. ;) Gotta love Sid's questionable, scruffy hairstyle choices now and then. 
> 
> Thank you to my beta for making this way better.

Zhenya liked Sid’s downy molting feathers a lot. He should probably find them unsightly—they were objectively strange and gross—but there was something uncomprehendingly endearing about them, just like everything else about Sid. 

Sid molted a couple of times a year. In November, and again during the postseason, he’d develop fuzzy grey patches which he’d scratch at until he was leaving drifts of feathers everywhere. Zhenya found them in the corners of lockers and clogging up the drains, under the benches and even in the glove compartment of his car. Other than the constant itching, Sid didn’t seem to mind them much. Yet they made Zhenya feel wild with—something.

Annoyance, he supposed. Bewilderment?

Zhenya had only fully molted twice himself: the first time was just after he’d joined the team, and the second during the ‘09 Cup playoffs. Once in a while, when he was feeling particularly passionate about being a Penguin, he’d develop a few feathers that he’d yank out before anyone saw. If they were in an awkward place, he’d hire an aesthetician to pluck them. 

Rookies molted, with their wild spikes of hormones and embarrassingly earnest enthusiasm, and Zhenya was far too mature for that. He was _done_ with puberty. He wouldn’t walk out of the house stinking like sweat or with a big zit on his face. Feathers were basically the same thing—your body doing something weird. Maybe Zhenya was vain, but he had appearances to keep up.

Sid clearly didn’t care who saw his molt. He was shameless. Sid believed in the potential of the team no matter what and molted like clockwork every year, even though he was firmly past thirty.

Late in November, Sid looked like he’d let a tiny broken lawnmower drive all over his back and legs, leaving asymmetrical grey clusters everywhere. The hair on his head was long, and he hadn’t shaved in at least a week. It wasn’t a good look for him. Zhenya’s eyes trailed him all the way into the showers. When Zhenya finally shook himself of his smattering of reporters after a rare, long losing streak, Sid was still in there, pink from the steam and slick all over. His wet feathers stuck to his back like a nasty little oil spill.

“You use up hot water?” Zhenya asked, raising his voice above the splatter of water on the tiles.

Sid tilted his head back and gargled in the spray. Then he spat like a fountain towards Zhenya’s feet, which Zhenya deftly avoided. 

“Hey, G,” Sid said, grinning and probably about two seconds from launching into an in-depth analysis of the game that they’d lost. How he managed to be in a good mood after three losses in a row was beyond Zhenya—it must be some superhuman ability to move on that Zhenya would never possess, or perhaps just old age. Zhenya liked to stomp around and shout a little instead. Frustration made him act childish.

Zhenya ran his hand against the grain of Sid’s feathers, ruffling them up so they looked tangled. “You molty, Sid.” 

His hand was slapped away with a restrained giggle. “So what are you gonna do about it, huh? Wanna pluck them for me? Scratch my itch?” Sid asked with a goofy leer.

Sid was at least half of the hot air in the showers. He was always saying shit like that because he thought it was funny and no one could help but stare at his enormous ass. He was never serious, though—least of all with Zhenya. You had to beat him at his own game. “Yeah, sure,” Zhenya said, tilting his chin up so he could look down his nose at Sid even more. “You like that.”

Zhenya stuck out his tongue and went off to his own shower, and Sid shuffled off barefoot. He was gross, and Zhenya wasn’t at all interested in watching his big fat butt leave, much less the way the water trailed down through his feathers as he dripped everywhere. Plucking was entirely too intimate. He wasn’t going to _do_ it for Sid, but even imagining it was too dangerous. Zhenya didn’t think about how Sid would spread himself out and bare his vulnerabilities while he smiled at Zhenya with all his fake teeth and probably said embarrassing shit all the while. Zhenya washed his junk efficiently and thought about nothing at all.

But Sid was still hanging around fifteen minutes later as Zhenya finished. He was sitting in Zhenya’s stall in most of his game-day suit, thighs spread wide and testing the limits of his navy pants. 

“Fuck off,” Zhenya snapped cheerfully, his favourite and most-used English expression. It was especially useful for annoying teammates. Sid didn’t move, except to heave a sigh and scratch his leg. Zhenya rolled his eyes and snatched up his deodorant from his kit. 

It had been an afternoon game, which in Zhenya’s experience made Sid unsettled with excess energy. Maybe he wanted to go to an early dinner where he could make Zhenya complicit in ditching his diet plan. Or he probably didn’t have enough starry-eyed rookies to hastle. They didn’t really hang out a _lot_ , so it was odd—

Sid sighed again. 

Zhenya took the bait. “What you want?”

Sid lolled his head to the side. “It’s just,” he looked up at Zhenya, “can you go a little faster?”

“You sit in my space!” Zhenya spluttered, and grabbed at Sid’s shoulder to move him, but Sid remained solid as a cinderblock wall. 

“Come on, just put on some sweats. You can pick up your suit tomorrow. Or whatever—you have more than one. I just want to go home.”

“So _go_ ,” Zhenya said, confused. 

“You’re coming with me,” said Sid in that way that made it sound like they’d already made some decision. 

“Me—what? Why I come with you?”

“Geno,” Sid nearly whined, put-upon. “Can’t you help me out? You get them too. You _know_ I can’t reach back there.”

Zhenya stepped back, and Sid caught his wrist. “I give you name of place,” Zhenya blurted, feeling heat rising on his cheeks. Sid frowned. “Where I go for my molt. They nice and it’s so easy.”

“Aw, but then I have to make an appointment, and it’ll take forever. What if I can’t get in before we go on the roadie? _You’re_ free right now.” Sid looked at him, considering, and Zhenya kept his face carefully blank. “I need you, man. You know I don’t usually give a fuck about my molt, but this itching is driving me crazy.”

And wouldn’t he help out a teammate in need? Sid probably thought Zhenya was weird for arguing with him. The young guys helped each other out all the time. They had monthly slumber parties where they groomed all the feathers out. They were always preening each other, and surely it wasn’t like what Zhenya imagined in his head. If he was turned on by it, that was his own strangeness, and he didn’t need to burden Sid with it.

Zhenya gave up and started looking for a tshirt and track pants. Sid hadn’t bothered to re-gel his hair. He was looking fluffy and, if he was honest with himself, Zhenya wanted to go with him. He could help Sid out like a good friend would and anything else could be kept to himself.

This was so stupid.

“Plus you already said sure,” Sid said, grinning as Zhenya started pulling on clothes. 

“It’s _joke_ , Sid.”

They took Sid’s Range Rover, and Sid drove precisely the speed limit the whole way with NPR on low. He yapped about faceoffs the entire time. Zhenya swirled his fingers in the drift of down feathers in Sid’s cup-holder and disagreed with everything Sid said just to be contrary. Zhenya wondered for a brief moment about the feathers still clinging to Sid’s skin, but quickly shut that line of thought down. He knew that if he got an erection now, it’d be obvious through the thin material of his Penguins-branded gear, so he didn’t think about where they were going or what they’d do there. Any brain cells he wasn’t wasting on Sid’s game talk were devoted to thinking about the concept of sponge baths in nursing homes and the persistent scent of the vegetable drawer in his fridge. Sid looked at him out of the corner of his eye, but his expression was inscrutable. 

The house was nearly dark by the time they arrived in the drizzling, fading afternoon. Sid turned on the lights with the fancy new touchpad system he’d been chirped into installing over the summer. He gave a demonstration at the end-of-training-camp barbecue that had been enthusiastic enough that everyone made fun of him for a week. 

“You want anything to eat?” Sid asked. Zhenya was naturally ravenous after a game. But they easily could have gotten something from the chefs at the arena, and Zhenya said as much. 

Zhenya managed to calm himself down, sitting at the kitchen island while Sid puttered around sticking his meal service boxes in the microwave and pouring glasses of water. Zhenya concentrated on not thinking about Sid’s molting feathers. It _wasn’t_ a sex thing, and he needed to calm his racing heart. Probably Sid just wanted to spend some quality time together and get Zhenya to yank the tricky feathers where Sid’s hands couldn’t reach. Friends helping friends, or something like that. 

Sid leaned his elbows on the marble counter while the boxes spun around in the microwave, and Zhena had zero complicated feelings about Sid’s rolled-up sleeves and his forearms. He also didn’t care about Sid’s eyes or watch his pink mouth while they discussed their goalies. 

“I could talk to Murr and see if he has any insights,” Sid offered, which was great. Zhenya wasn’t going over to _either_ Muzz or Jarry’s houses on account of the enormous dogs they kept who would surely eat Zhenya alive. 

“Jarry let in two goals today, easy to save,” Zhenya added and the microwave beeped.

“I don’t think I’m going to bring that up,” Sid said. He used a dishtowel to extract the steaming boxes. They smelled like food and Zhenya’s stomach rumbled. 

Sid offered Zhenya a box and a fork. He cracked the lid on pasta with tomatoes, red onions, zucchini, orange peppers—which he picked out—and meatballs that Zhenya could bet were plant-based. Sid never gave him the good stuff, but that was fine. There was nothing more sexless than a meat-free ball. He picked up the salt grinder and cracked it liberally over his meal, and then got up to get parmesan from the fridge because Sid was already stuffing his face.

“I don’t think we can just blame either of them for the games, though,” Sid mumbled through a mouthful of colourful vegetables. 

Zhenya looked for the cheese in Sid’s confusing fridge layout. Was it behind the oat milk? “I’m not score enough,” Zhenya admitted, because it was always true unless he got a hat trick every game.

“You’re not _passing_ enough,” Sid corrected. 

“I pass fine,” Zhenya retorted. He passed when his wingers were open—they just weren’t open enough. “Where’s cheese?”

“Oh,” Sid said, “I threw it out.”

Zhenya let the door slam closed. “What?”

“Parm is dairy,” he said, as if that mattered at all. Sid should have parmesan because he served pasta two out of three meals every day and he had guests who had taste buds that appreciated _flavours_. And Zhenya also knew from snooping on a different day that there were at least five pints of ice cream in the freezer. 

Sid started laughing at whatever face Zhenya was making, so he stomped back around to his seat to make his position more clear. 

“You don’t score in five games,” Zhenya said to be mean, and because he didn’t know the English word for calling someone a hypocrite. 

Sid shoveled another fork-load into his mouth and raised his eyebrows.

Alright. It was useless to argue this way. “Okay, fine. Second period with—”

“Yeah, we shouldn’t have had that turnover.”

They went back and forth while they ate, picking apart plays that should’ve gone better. Sid finished his pasta first because he talked and ate at the same time like an animal. The veggie balls were surprisingly delicious and filling. Sid took Zhenya’s fork and his box from him when he was done eating and cleaned up.

Zhenya had mostly forgotten about offering to pluck Sid’s molt feathers and all of his complicated feelings on the matter when Sid said, “Why don’t you go to my room. I’ll meet you up there in a few.”

“Okay,” Zhenya said automatically as his temperature spiked. Couldn’t they just do it on the couch? Or right here in the kitchen? Things were moving too quickly. “Bed? You sure?”

“Why not?” Sid said. “It’s comfy. Good for spreading out. Plus I just had the couches steamed.” 

Zhenya didn’t know why _that_ mattered. He swallowed and pushed away from the island and slowly made his way upstairs.

He’d been in Sid’s bedroom only once before, when Rusty had spilled a margarita on him at a party and Zhenya needed a shirt while he used Sid’s washer. The walk-in had been floor-to-ceiling with navy, black, and grey. What had made a lasting impression on him were Sid’s four identical pairs of jeans, pressed and folded neatly on hangers. 

Now, what he noticed was an enormous woodblock print of a tuna hanging over Sid’s bed. Zhenya thought that the matching lobster print in Sid’s kitchen was tacky, but this really took the prize. He wondered, not for the first time, why the team wasted their energy and creativity making fun of Zhenya’s house when Sid decorated like _this_. Sid wasn’t a goddamn sea captain, but evidently he seemed to think he was. Zhenya’s tackiness paled greatly in comparison. 

Looking at the stupid fish, Zhenya burst out laughing. He slipped his phone out of his pocket and took a shaky picture to send to the group chat. 

“What’s so funny?” Sid called from downstairs. 

Zhenya sat on the end of the bed and didn’t answer. 

How was this going to work? When Zhenya had someone else pluck his feathers, he went to a salon and laid down on a paper-covered examination table like the ones at the doctor’s office. They could probably use Sid’s bathroom. It’d be awkward, but easy to clean up later. 

Sid appeared in the doorway, reading Zhenya’s mind. At some point, he’d lost his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. “Hey,” he said, coming in with some towels, “can you take off the blanket and spread these on the bed?”

Zhenya stood and took the towels from Sid, who then went into the en-suite. He yanked at Sid’s grey duvet, tossed it in a great, stormy wave, and let it crumple onto the floor. Then he spread two big beach towels over the sheets--one of them had a cheery candy-striped lighthouse printed on it, and the other was light purple with a tacky 90s seashell pattern. 

“Great,” Sid said. He came out of the bathroom with a handful of stuff and another smaller towel. “Thanks for doing this, by the way. I was one more day of itching from getting one of those back-scratchers.”

He set down the things: a bottle of lotion, a shallow bucket, and a pair of tweezers. 

“Back-scratchers for old guys,” Zhenya said—a miracle, given how dry his mouth was. 

“Yeah,” Sid agreed. “One more thing, hold on.”

Zhenya went over to inspect the lotion while Sid clomped back down the stairs. It was far too much English to bother with reading, but he recognized the logo and the green cross, so he figured it was supposed to be soothing or healing. Zhenya didn’t fuck with lotions usually. They always smelled like perfume or baby powder. 

“Here we go,” Sid said on his return, and deposited two water bottles on the nightstand as well. “Lemme just take my suit off, and we can get started.”

There was nothing he could do but casually watch as Sid stripped—to look away would be even more incriminating, and he knew Sid kind of liked to show off anyways because of the inevitable chirping he got in the locker room.

“Take your time,” Zhenya said, just to get Sid to laugh and blush, which worked. Sid ducked into his closet to get rid of his clothes. 

“Okay, so,” Sid began as he re-emerged, naked and devastatingly broad. “I’m going to lay down. I thought you could put the feathers in the bucket so that cleanup is easier. And the goop is so I don’t get all red.”

Zhenya nodded. 

“Great.” Sid lay down on top of the towels, face-down. He folded his arms under his pillow and shifted until he was comfortable. “So where were we?”

It took a moment to realize that Sid wanted to continue their discussion from the kitchen. “Five on three,” Zhenya said.

“Right right,” Sid said, “special teams.”

Zhenya set the shallow bucket next to Sid’s shoulder on the far side and then picked up the flat-ended tweezers. Leaning over Sid from the side of the bed was going to kill his back, so he willed his dick to behave and climbed on, straddling Sid’s ass. He settled, trying to keep most of his weight off Sid, but he had to spread his knees wide and didn’t have much balance. Sid grunted a little, but then started giving his run-down on their special teams.

Zhenya started somewhere safe—though admittedly nowhere was safe—and went for the middle of Sid’s shoulder blade where it would be hardest for Sid to reach. 

The feathers had dried and fluffed up again, dark grey rather than black, but the dense cluster of them made it hard to figure out where one feather ended and the next began. Zhenya plucked as close to Sid’s skin as he could from the base of the down. There was a slight resistance, and then the root of the feather pulled free, smooth and a little thinner than a blade of grass.

He tried to tap the feather free into the bucket, but it clung and he had to use his free hand to flick it off. 

One feather barely made a dent. There were probably hundreds to go.

Zhenya got into a rhythm, letting Sid’s voice wash over him as he worked methodically to clear Sid’s shoulders of fuzz. When he cleared an area, he took the lotion, which was a little greasy, and smeared it over Sid’s skin. Other than the slight movements from talking and breathing, Sid stayed nicely still.

Or he did, at least, until Zhenya got to the feathers lining Sid’s spine. They were smaller and thinner, and resisted more. Sid flinched each time Zhenya pulled, and when he yanked the fourth one out, a bead of blood seeped from the spot. 

“ _Be nice_ ,” Sid complained, shoulder tense under the hand Zhenya was using to balance. 

Zhenya bit his lip, staring at the dot of blood. “Sure it’s okay? Keep going?”

“If I could reach them myself, I would. C’mon, just do it, bud. ”

Zhenya wiped the spot away with his thumb, painting a tiny red streak. Blood welled up again, but slower. He stroked his thumb over the spot, swiping back and forth, and Sid settled beneath him, shifting his hips against the bed.

"Yeah, okay." Sid sighed. “That’s pretty nice, actually. Do it just like that.”

Zhenya sucked in a quiet breath. His dick was getting a little hard where it brushed against Sid’s body, but he didn’t think it was obvious and hoped that it wouldn’t get worse. 

He worked more carefully with Sid’s back, quick when he pulled, but slow as he wiped away any blood and soothed the area. Sid went back to talking hockey, and Zhenya got into the flow of his work again. He liked touching Sid. His skin was ridiculously soft. It was satisfying to see each bit of it as it was revealed as the feathers fell away, faintly pink and shiny with the lotion. Zhenya was like a Sid-archeologist, gently sweeping the feathers away until he found the treasure underneath. 

“Geno?”

Zhenya hummed.

“I asked what you thought about the last minute of the PK in the third.”

They hadn’t let in any goals, if Zhenya remembered correctly, but his brain wasn’t exactly working at full capacity at the moment. “Sure,” Zhenya said, figuring that agreeing with Sid was probably the right answer. He plucked a particularly stubborn feather, and Sid hissed and twitched under Zhenya’s thighs.

“Ow,” Sid said as Zhenya rubbed over the spot. 

Zhenya wanted to lick the sore skin—soothe it with his mouth. Instead he picked up the lotion again. 

Once Sid’s back was done, Zhenya shifted off and away to work on the back of Sid’s legs. It was both a relief and a disappointment when he could sit comfortably between Sid’s calves. Sid leaned up on his elbows to reach for one of the water bottles. Zhenya stared at his arched back while he drank. 

“Want some?”

“Yes,” Zhenya said, and Sid passed him the unopened bottle as well as the hand towel. Zhenya wiped off his hands and then drank. He was surprisingly thirsty.

After passing the bottle back to Sid to replace on the nightstand, he got back to work. The feathers on Sid’s legs were mostly more wispy than fluffy, but they thickened and darkened as they trailed up towards Sid’s ass. He hefted Sid’s leg over his shoulder to work, and flushed at how easily Sid let himself be maneuvered. The scant space between them felt charged.

Zhenya had to focus and not be distracted by the paleness of Sid’s skin being revealed. The feathers on his legs were a little harder to pluck. The angle was awkward. Sid moved a lot more and Zhenya couldn’t tell if it was because it hurt or it tickled. 

He finished the backs of Sid’s legs and smoothed his hands over the expanse of them before he started working on the darker feathers on Sid's inner thighs. They got stiffer as he moved upwards, and there was this noise Sid kept making—a little gasp between words as he went on—and whenever he made it Zhenya would stop and apply more lotion. Soon Sid’s thighs were slicked all over. Zhenya’s hands were trembling with the tug-and-release of the feathers being loosed one by one. He had never seen Sid like _this_. He was open for Zhenya, unashamed, all of his thick muscle tensing under Zhenya’s hands and on display. 

Zhenya enjoyed everything about Sid’s legs. He’d imagined them enough with his hand on his cock. He’d jerked off so many times to the thought of Sid pressing one of those big hockey thighs against Zhenya’s erection and telling him _go on, take what you need, I got you_. Sid could hold him up with those legs. Sid could hold him _down_ with those legs. 

Zhenya knew he should stop now, before things got out of control. He’d lost track of the time, and Sid could deal with his ass and the other stuff on his own. Hire someone. Use wax. Scratch until the feathers fell out. 

“Hey, G?” Sid asked, and Zhenya looked down at Sid’s face. His cheeks were dusted pink, his eyes dark and hooded. “You gonna get the rest?”

Well, he’d come this far, hadn’t he? Nothing bad or strange had happened yet; Zhenya had kept it together. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “You want me to?”

Sid nodded. “Yeah, c’mon. Finish me off.”

He pushed Sid’s legs apart.

Rarely did Zhenya look at his buddies’ buttholes. He’d seen cocks galore, and he’d seen the intimate areas of his lovers. This was just different. 

Sid didn’t have a lot of hair, but there were feathers there too. They were white rather than dark, short and circling around a spot that was _not_ Sid’s asshole, but somewhere closer to Sid’s taint. 

_What is that?_ Zhenya wondered at the shadowy divot, probably no wider or deeper than the tip of his finger. He stroked over the edge of it, and Sid jolted like he’d been shocked. 

“Geno,” Sid gasped mid-sentence.

Birds, Zhenya knew, had one hole. They had one hole for everything, and this wasn’t a _hole_ , but it was like one. He tried to come up with the word for it from science class years ago, because ‘bird hole’ was almost definitely wrong. It didn’t seem functional, really, and Zhenya couldn’t remember the word for that either. What he came up with was ‘extra.’ _Bonus_ , his mind supplied in English.

He touched it again, just lightly, curious and burning up inside. It was smooth like scar tissue.

Sid had gone silent, and tense. 

“You have feather here,” Zhenya said. “You want me to take?”

“Uh, I don’t—” Sid’s voice broke as Zhenya prodded again.

“It’s not itchy?”

Sid made a new sound. It was a sort of rolling coo that ticked up into a squawk. Zhenya rubbed at the divot, hoping to get the same sound again, but wasn’t successful. He took his hands away. 

“It’s really itchy,” Sid allowed after a deep breath. He spread his legs wider and tilted his ass up, giving Zhenya better access. “You should get those ones too.” 

Zhenya didn’t need to be told twice. 

The short white feathers were hard to grip with the tweezers. Zhenya had to hold Sid’s ass cheek out of the way with one hand. When he finally grasped one and yanked it out, Sid thrashed on the bed and knocked the bucket of feathers over the side. 

“Holy _shit_ ,” Sid moaned. 

“Be still.”

“You try it, big guy.”

“Hurts?” Zhenya rubbed his thumb where he’d plucked.

Sid shuddered. “Kinda. Not really. I don’t know, it’s just strange.” He shifted his hips, grinding the divot against Zhenya’s thumb. “Keep going.”

Zhenya plucked another feather, and Sid kicked just as hard as the first time, letting out another yelp. 

“You stop,” Zhenya said. He felt a little feverish as he pushed Sid’s thighs back open and guided Sid’s hands to hold them that way. If Sid wanted to, he could let go, but this would keep him from moving and possibly breaking shit like the bed or Zhenya’s kneecaps.

Sid gave him a look like—Zhenya didn’t know. He didn’t want to interpret it.

Unable to really move, Sid just got louder. His somewhat-pained cries turned into punchy moans, and he clenched his muscles under Zhenya with each pluck. Zhenya was mesmerized with this secret part of Sid. He had no idea, and here Sid was letting him touch. Letting him tend to it.

When the rings of white feathers were pulled out, and Sid’s molt finally over for now, Zhenya knew the proper next step was to smear some lotion where he had finished and go the fuck home to jerk off in peace. Instead, encouraged by all the noises Sid was making, he moved until he could crouch between Sid’s trembling legs, and leaned down to lick at the divot. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Sid shouted, scrambling out of Zhenya’s way. He sat up against the headboard, dragging the towels with him in his haste. Zhenya’s face flamed as Sid looked at him with wide eyes. 

“Sorry,” Zhenya said instinctively. “I just want—sorry.”

Sid’s chest heaved. Zhenya sat back up and reached for the lotion, squirting far too much in his cupped palm. 

He just swiped at Sid’s divot without any nonsense. “Sorry,” he said again.

“You know that’s kinda dirty, right?” Sid seemed more amused than upset.

Zhenya could explain that he knew how thorough Sid was with his showering, but that would perhaps reveal too much. “What I do with this?” He asked instead, gesturing with his lotion-hand.

“Rub it in, I guess. Better than letting it go to waste.” 

Of course, right. Sid had looked at him _like that_ , like he wanted something more, or at least to try. He had let Zhenya touch him in the most tender of places, but Zhenya had gotten so wrapped up in his own pleasure at Sid revealing himself that he’d forgotten: he was here as a favor and he should do what Sid wanted—nothing more. Clearly he had misinterpreted Sid’s desires.

Instead, he kneeled over Sid’s lap and wiped the excess lotion onto his chest, leaving Sid’s ass and his mysterious divot out of it. That was safe territory. He’d humiliated himself enough for one day.

Sid had bulked up over the years, so he was more balanced now between his top half and his bottom half. Zhenya rubbed circles over the muscles of Sid’s chest, working in the greasy lotion. He squeezed Sid’s pectorals gently. He avoided Sid’s nipples—flushed and perky in the cool air. It seemed polite to skirt around them because sometimes people were really sensitive there. He dragged the slick of the lotion down the midline of Sid’s torso, to his belly button, and back up. Then Zhenya massaged the stiff trapezius muscles, digging his thumbs into Sid’s shoulders. 

“Hey,” Sid said, his voice soft and careful. 

Zhenya looked up, and Sid’s expression had changed again. 

“Tell me if I’m reading the play wrong, okay? But—” He stretched up, wrapping his arms around Zhenya, and kissed him. 

An unbidden sigh shuddered out of Zhenya’s mouth. Sid’s lips were warm and wet as he gently parted them.

Sid pulled away for a moment, maybe testing the ice, so the second time Zhenya leaned down and met him halfway. He felt like he was being swallowed by a tidal wave of want. Sid was so good; Zhenya wanted him to feel good. He wanted Sid to make him feel good, too. It was a simple equation, but it overwhelmed him. 

He had been wrong again. Their desires were aligned after all. 

Zhenya licked into Sid’s mouth, deepening the kiss, squeezing Sid’s shoulders. Sid crossed his legs, and Zhenya sat in the space he made, curling his body closer. 

“You uh,” Sid murmured later, as Zhenya moved to kissing Sid’s jaw to get some air, “you missed a spot.”

“Where?” Zhenya asked distractedly. Had Sid always smelled so good? Surely it was just the regular soap that was stocked in the showers that lingered on Sid’s skin. 

Sid peeled Zhenya’s hands from his shoulders and placed them back over his chest. “Right here.”

Zhenya hummed and squeezed while mouthing at the shell of Sid’s heated ear. He was rewarded with Sid’s breathy gasp. “Yeah?”

“Geno,” Sid said, laughter and whining rolled together, “come on.” Zhenya looked down to where Sid had placed his hands, right back over his nipples. He thumbed the left one, and Sid’s breath hitched. “Oh, fuck,” Sid whispered, high and tight, and Zhenya was hit with the image of Sid doing this to himself while he jerked off. He thought of Sid pinching them, and did the same. 

Zhenya didn’t have to ask if Sid liked it. He felt Sid’s cock start to come to life against him as he kept experimenting with Sid’s nipples. Zhenya’s fingers were still a little slick as he rolled the tense little buds between his thumb and index finger. Sid was so responsive, his voice raising, pushing his chest into Zhenya’s hands and then twitching away. 

Zhenya kissed him again, and Sid ground his hips upward. His cock dragged against the stretched front of Zhenya’s track pants. 

“Take your shirt off,” Sid demanded. Zhenya pulled his tshirt over his head and threw it off the side of the bed. Sid cupped Zhenya’s chest in his warm, dry hands, pushing the muscle together and creating a shallow valley. “God, I fucking love your tits, G.”

“Shut up,” Zhenya said, burning. 

Sid leaned forward and bit lightly. He let go and skimmed his hands down Zhenya’s sides. “I want to do so much.” Sid took Zhenya’s hands in his, linked their fingers together, and kissed him teasingly. “Can I touch your cock? You gonna take your pants off?”

“Yeah.” Zhenya unfolded himself from Sid’s lap, turning sideways on the bed so he could struggle out of his track pants. They got twisted with his underwear and hooked around his ankles, and he was frantic enough to struggle with them until he could finally get free. Then they were both naked. 

Sid pushed Zhenya over onto the towels so they were backwards on the bed, and then lay down on top of him, which was perfect. His skin was slick and overheated, and Zhenya strained happily against his bulk and the fat, stiffening line of his cock. 

“I can’t believe you tried to lick me there, earlier,” Sid said against Zhenya’s hot cheek, and Zhenya flushed to his toes remembering it—shame and arousal coiling together. “Wasn’t it weird?”

“No,” Zhenya admitted. “I like it.”

“You know what it is, right?” Sid asked, and Zhenya shrugged. He guessed that it had something to do with Sid letting the molt go on so long. A little divot that Sid’s body had made, a place to be explored, to be _fucked_ , simply because he loved the game of hockey so much. “It started growing when I was—I don’t know, twenty? Twenty-one? Itched like fucking crazy and I was always rubbing it. It doesn’t do anything, but it felt so good when _you_ touched it. Never felt anything like it. Weird, but _fuck_ , so good.” Sid rolled his hips against Zhenya’s, their cocks dragging together, the contact sending sparks up Zhenya’s spine. “Thought I was gonna come just like that.”

Zhenya heard the click of the lotion cap, and then the lewd squirt of the tube. “Sid, ah,” he cried as Sid thrust hard against him, and then wiggled his hand between them, grasping Zhenya’s hard length. It was way too much lotion—cold and wet—and Zhenya whimpered at the contrast of sensation. “ _Sid_.”

“You could probably make me come just by sucking on it a little,” Sid said. Zhenya shut his eyes and grit his teeth in fear that he would come too soon at the thought. Sid and his filthy fucking mouth—who could have known? “Oh, you like that, eh?”

For the sake of his sanity, Zhenya had to even the playing field. He felt blindly for the lotion, and got his hand re-slicked. 

Sid moaned and blessedly stopped _talking_ as Geno slid his hand down the shaft of Sid’s cock. All he could say was, “Ohh,” and then, “yes.”

It was hard to concentrate. Sid’s grip on him was tight, but still so slippery. It sent a constant zip of pleasure through his body. Zhenya’s mouth hung open, and the sounds of stroking each other filled his ears. Sid kept shifting on top of him, his thighs spreading over Zhenya’s hips, grinding forward into his grip. His skin was smooth and soft and warm sliding against Zhenya. His damp breath fanned against Zhenya’s neck and collar, sometimes forming half-words. 

“C’mon,” Sid said after a while.

Zhenya grunted in the affirmative. 

“Lemme just—” Sid squirmed again, then batted Zhenya’s hand away. He wrapped his hand around both of their cocks. That was even better. Sid’s big cock lined right up with Zhenya’s, hot, hard. “Good,” Sid said. “Now you.”

“Me what?” Zhenya asked.

Sid didn’t really answer, just flexed his hips and moaned. 

“Sid, _what_?” 

Zhenya slowed his strokes, hesitating. Far be it for Sid to ever be short on words, even for handjob instructions. “Touch me,” Sid said finally. “Back there—finger me, c’mon.”

 _Fuck_. “Okay.” He wanted it. Zhenya slid his hands around the huge globes of Sid’s ass. “Okay.” 

It was wetter back there than before. Zhenya slipped his fingers between Sid’s cheeks and pulled them apart a little. There was more than just the greasy slide of the lotion. It was a little gooey, and a little grainy like fine white sugar. Whatever the new wetness was, it got thicker as Zhenya moved closer to the divot. Sid’s hips hitched, desperate jackrabbiting movements. 

The new slick, then, was coming from the divot itself. 

Zhenya circled around the dip lightly, just barely touching. Sid whined, and then a sort of rumbling started up deep in his chest as if it was being trapped there. It was like the sound he had made earlier. Zhenya wiggled his fingertips into the divot, digging in deeper, encouraging Sid to keep going. He felt himself coming close to the edge, the situation becoming overwhelming, but he held off with all his force of will. He wanted Sid to come first. 

“Let go,” Zhenya said. “Sid, let me hear.” 

“ _Geno_ ,” Sid ground out, his voice tight.

He _pushed_ his middle finger into the divot, and the space stretched just a little bit further, sinking to the first knuckle as it stretched to accommodate him. Sid screeched, and then came, spilling an impossible amount. The sound he made was absurd, but also so hot. Zhenya squeezed his eyes shut.

He tried not to come, but did anyway, following Sid over with his own moaning. When it was done, he was breathless. His body shuddered with aftershocks.

Zhenya’s stomach was soaked, and so were his hands, which he used to grip Sid’s soft, curling hair and drag him up to kiss again. Sid’s face was feverish and a little wet, too. Had he come so hard he cried? Zhenya hoped so. He hoped that he had made Sid feel good enough to break. 

“Geno,” Sid murmured against his mouth, “goddamn, _Geno_ , fuck.” 

He loved the way Sid was saying it—he loved the way that Sid finally relaxed against him like his strings had been cut, weight draping over Zhenya’s body. “You like?” Zhenya asked. “No one touch you there?”

“Maybe a little bit,” Sid sighed, “but not like that. They’re always so careful and it never felt like much. They didn’t play with it like you did.”

Zhenya was smugly pleased. “I’m best.” 

Sid rolled his eyes. “You can always improve.”

“Best you have,” Zhenya confirmed. “Best ever.”

“Next time you can try eating me out, eh?” Sid said, and Zhenya’s brain shorted out for a second before returning full-force with desire. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d probably come on the spot.” 

“There’s next time?”

“Wasn’t even sure there was gonna be a first time,” Sid laughed. “I mean, how many times did I try to make a move with you before you got the message? And 'Come over to pluck my feathers' did it for you? Really? ”

Zhenya felt his mouth drop open, his face heating. “That’s not _flirt_.” Sid was that way with everyone, wasn’t he? "Rookies do molt things all the time! I don't know! It's sexy for me, but I know it's weird."

"You're not the only one who enjoys it," Sid said, his cheeks pink. “Come on, you think I stick my ass out at _all_ my friends? Last week I literally bent over and said, ‘Like what you see, big boy?’ And you told me you were going to go make a sandwich.”

“Maybe tell me one more time,” Zhenya suggested, because unless they were talking hockey, Sid spoke an alien language from a planet where people were allergic to announcing firm opinions. Zhenya was pretty sure he was getting the picture, but he wanted to hear Sid say it and not mince words.

Sid leaned up enough to look up at Zhenya with his big brown eyes. “Geno,” he said, gaze serious, but his mouth quirked with amusement. “I like you a lot. I want to fuck you all the goddamn time. Sound good?”

Zhenya nodded, swallowing hard, warmth spreading through his whole body. “Yes. Please, Sid. I want.”

“Well,” Sid said, “not until we both rinse off and hydrate. And I definitely need to crush a nap.” Sid _peeled_ away from Zhenya, but Zhenya couldn’t muster even a little bit of disgust. He’d made Sid come so hard that it glued them together. Sid stretched, arms above his head and still straddling Zhenya’s lap. His soft cock was smeared with a mess of come and lotion and sweat. He had three feathers stuck to his skin. Zhenya curved both hands over Sid’s plush hips. 

Sid _liked_ him. Zhenya felt like he was going to explode with affection. Here was this man who he’d known for so long, and yet Zhenya was still discovering new things to enjoy. He felt greedy for more. 

“You wanna clean up with me?” Sid asked.

The area around the bed was an absolute disaster zone. Some of Sid’s molt feathers were stuck to the bed, but most of them were scattered on the floor from where the bucket had fallen. The lotion tube was a lost cause, mangled and sticky. The beach towels—Zhenya hoped the washer could take care of them.

He and Sid knelt to scoop some of the feathers back into the bucket, but left the rest for the vacuum cleaner. They went to Sid’s palatial bathroom together, and into the shower. 

“So I’m thinking we could order in, if you want,” Sid said, scrubbing a soapy hand over his crotch. “What’re you hungry for?”

“Don’t we just eat?” There was a confusing collection of different types of soaps and conditioners and gel in the shower, so Zhenya just grabbed the one that Sid was using.

“It’ll take a while to get here.” Sid looked up at him through his lashes, cuter than he had any right to be. “We could talk about the roadie on Wednesday.” 

“Oh, just talk,” Zhenya said, and reached for Sid again. It had been minutes since they touched. Zhenya was yearning for it again already.

“Or whatever you like,” Sid said before Zhenya kissed him. 

They didn’t get up to much trouble in the shower because they were both old men and the floor was slippery. The water didn’t go cold, but it wasn’t steaming anymore by the time they had washed away everything. Sid rinsed an admittedly gross amount of silty slick from his ass, and Zhenya watched it swirl down the drain with fascinated horror. 

Zhenya wrapped the biggest of Sid’s bath towels around his hips, and Sid dressed himself in a fluffy white robe. “C’mon, let’s snuggle a bit,” Sid said as he took Zhenya’s hand and led him back to the bedroom. 

Sid stripped the rest of the mess off the bed, and the sheets were clean and dry beneath it all. He balled up everything and took it to the closet to be deposited while Zhenya made himself comfortable, bringing the blanket and top sheet back up from the floor. When Sid came back, Zhenya patted the spot next to him on the bed, and Sid crawled in next to him with his phone in his hand. He passed Zhenya’s water bottle, and drained the rest of his own.

“What do you want to eat?” Sid asked him, unlocking his phone. 

Zhenya swallowed his water and shrugged, feeling generous and happy. “Whatever is fine.”

Sid hummed, and started poking around his delivery app. “Pick something on TV, then.”

He didn’t care what they watched. He took the remote from the other night stand and flipped around the channels until he got to PBS and some fundraiser they were doing. It was mindless, and the repetition of the same phrases again and again was soothing for Zhenya's ears. He dropped the remote at Sid’s hip, and then burrowed further into the blankets until he could tuck himself against Sid's side. 

“Going for the pregame nap?” Sid’s fingers carded into Zhenya’s hair, and he grunted in reply. “Alright, buddy. I’ll wake you up when the food gets here.” Zhenya’s eyes were heavy, and he was warm, relaxed, and happy. Sid was here with him, sharing the soft, vulnerable honesty of his body—and maybe his heart, too.


End file.
